It's All an Act
by yet to come
Summary: It was all just a pastime for himself. Simple magic tricks were raised to unrealistic heights with the help of the advantage of knowing the magic behind his act. But in the end, it was all an act...even Hogwarts, the one place wizards think is true.


Pro:

A chorus of awe's echoed through a small crowd. Wide, amazed eyes watched intently as the sideshow continued and a slight 'ooh' escaped from the lips of the spectators. Children swayed, enchanted, at the feet of the adults, their intense fascination keeping their minds from recognizing the darkening sky. The people looked on, trying to keep up with the show, break the codes, and figure out the facts behind the performance. Yet, for some reason, they couldn't. The normal, everyday magic tricks were somehow twisted and intensified in this sideshow, due to the lack of hiding places for rabbits to come out of a hat, for cards to not be up sleeves or secretly turned over, for the lack of hiding anything. For the lack of trickery.

The simple, homeless, lone magician went through his list of tricks and seemingly magical charms for the crowd. The black top hat upon his head was dirty, but not at all worn; the red interior and embroider of a golden lion was hidden away from sight by ruffled brown hair. His black cape filthily blew in the intensifying wind, just barely keeping the insignia of a silver snake on the emerald inside of the cape behind his back. His tan, wiry chest was able to be seen though the open collar of a baggy, torn white, button up, short-sleeved shirt that billowed in the gusts of wind. Black pants, torn at the knees, clung to the legs beneath them; worn from years of use. His plain, once-white-now-gray tennis shoes had patched up holes all around them. The magician's handsome, rugged face was watching the crowd and his own moves with great concentration and hidden amusement. Calculating brown eyes surveyed the crowd, honing in on those few who did not care or believe in magic. His low voice chuckled as the non-believers tried, fruitlessly, to find the flaw in his act.

And it really was all just an act.

He knew it quite well. He knew it was all just a pastime for himself. A means of earning his next dinner. Simple card tricks were raised to unrealistic heights with the help of the advantage of knowing the magic behind his act.

Suddenly a loud crash filled the air. Suddenly lightening lit up the gray sky. Suddenly rain began to flood the streets of New York City. Suddenly there were no more spectators for this magician to put on a show for.

With a sigh, old eyes looked upward from a young face. The magician gathered his tricks up out of the rain. He patiently began his trek to shelter. His worn out shoes took him though crowds of running people who threw whispers of 'Is he a homeless boy?' his way. He paid them no heed, though, silently, he hoped no one would approach him. Finally out of the rain, the magician settled down onto the concrete ground with his belongings. A tan hand took his top hat from his head, shaking it to cleanse it from the rain that soaked it. He placed the hat atop a bag beside him before shaking his head to send water splattering all about him. His hands suddenly began to work on ridding his long, messy hair from the invasive liquid.

Another sigh escaped the magician as he pulled his top hat off the murky-yellow bag. His brown eyes traveled over the bag. The side pockets which always seemed to be empty, the neatly closed flap, and of course, the lock. The metallic, black badger that kept the inside locked away from the eyes of anyone other than the magician. He slowly worked the lock open, reached in, and pulled out a black, leather book with a bronze raven symbol implanted in the center of the front cover. He traced the pattern of the raven for a moment before a crash of thunder broke his trance. The magician held the book to his chest for a moment before he stood and wandered over to a dumpster. He gingerly tossed the bag inside before climbing in along with it. He reopened the bag, placed the book back inside before jumping into the seemingly normal book bag. Immediately the cover of the bag flipped closed and locked itself. The lock seemed to shimmer in an ethereal way. The rain poured down around the shadowed dumpster, the bag nothing more than another abandoned piece of trash.

All the while, cold, collected eyes watched from the shadows around the dumpster. Deep blue irises held a piercing, yet calculating, look as they watched the trash bin for a moment longer before they blinked and their spell was broken. The owner turned on his heels and sauntered away.


End file.
